


I'm Fine

by AtlasAffogato



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Gen, Hallucinations, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:28:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlasAffogato/pseuds/AtlasAffogato
Summary: Steve Harrington is fine.Steve Harrington has to be fine.Steve Harrington doesn't have trouble sleeping.He's fine.





	I'm Fine

Steve is fine. After everything is said and done, demodogs dead and Eleven back, Steve settles back into a regular routine. School continues and life moves forward as if nothing happened. School is still difficult and the house is still empty. Everything's the same.

Well, not exactly the same.

After his falling out with Tommy and Carol last year, Steve had fallen on the popularity chain, and when Billy Hargrove showed up, he was shoved right down to the bottom. Losing authority in such a way revealed to Steve who his real friends were, and he was bitter to realize he only had two.

It was a culture shock to find himself in the company of Jonathan and and Nancy; to have the whole school giving him a stink eye, and to be jostled around in the hallways. It wasn't bad, per say, he quite enjoyed being friends with Jonathan and Nancy, it was just a shock. Just a shock.

Steve focuses back to realize he is at his locker, turning the lock around and around. He sighs. He seems to be doing that a lot lately. Zoning out. Its starting to get annoying. He turns the lock the other direction to clear it and tries his combo. The handle doesn't budge. Frustration growing, Steve tries the combo again, slowing down to think of the numbers. _35.......03........11._ He froze, fingers clenching the lock. _Eleven._

_"Her name is Eleven. She escaped Hawkins labs."_ Mike's voice floods Steve's ears.

_"I called you. Every night for-" "353 days. I heard."_

Steve releases the lock and backs away from his locker, heart beating and adrenaline rushing his system. He forces a calming breath into his lungs and leaves for class, taking all his books with him.

Nancy frowns as Steve drops into the desk beside her, four notebooks and three textbooks piled in his arms, but says nothing.

* * *

Steve and Nancy have separate lunch blocks, so he ends up eating with Jonathan. It's a bit awkward. They had only recently became friends. It wasn't more than a year ago that Steve had been mocking him in the hallways. But after apologizing more times than necessary, Jonathan had been willing to forget it.

Sliding into the seat across from Jonathan, Steve picked up a picture off the table. Jonathan grabbed at it, but Steve pulled himself out of reach. It was a picture of the sun rising on the forest, dark foliage silhouetting against the soft oranges and pinks of the sky. Handing the picture back with a smile, Steve says "That's a great one. You should put it on the wall." A cautious smile pulls on Jonathan's face as he stares down at his photos.

"Thanks." He said. "But I don't think it's good enough for the wall."

In desperate need of something cheerful, they had started a photo wall in Jonathan's room including nature photos, and pictures of Jonathan's family and friends.

Steve shakes his head. "Nonsense. It's great. Put it up." With a decisive nod, Steve grabs his sandwich and takes a bite.

_“Fine, but you’re explaining this to Ms. Byers.”_

The smell of decomposing demogorgon and the taste of lunch meat mixed in his mouth, and Steve barely held back a gag. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Steve put the sandwich down with a grimace and chugged his water bottle. With the rotting taste out of his mouth, Steve pushed his tray toward Jonathan. “Here, take my sandwich, I don’t want it.”

Jonathan huffs a small laugh and looks up from under his fringe.

“No dude, you already took a bite, that’s disgusting.” Steve leans back in his chair and holds up his hands.

“Oh, well excuse me. I didn’t realize you had such a cultured palate.” Jonathan snorted and Steve smiled wide as Jonathan laughed.

As a group of people walk by, a balled up piece of paper rolls onto their table. Sharing a glance, Steve and Jonathan shrug and Steve gras the paper. Unballing it, Steve reads the large bold print that simply read FAG. Rolling his eyes, Steve balls the paper back up and aims for the trash can. “How much you want to bet I can make this shot?” Jonathan looks over his shoulder at the bin across the room. He turns back to Steve and offers his apple as wager. Steve winks and tosses the paper, it bouncing off the wall into the bin. Steve smiles and takes the apple, taking a big bite before smiling at Jonathan, apple between his teeth.

* * *

 

Steve had taken to staying in the dark room after school with Jonathan. Away from the loud voices and bodies pressed against his, Steve found comfort in the silence of the dark room.

Steve had excused himself from his last block and escaped to the dark room. Peeking in and finding it empty, Steve scurried inside and sat on a stool in the corner. Cradling his head in his hands, Steve tried to regulate his breathing, willing the anxiety crawling in his chest to dissipate. “You’re fine, you’re fine.” He murmured to himself, a quiet mantra going on and on. “You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.” Steve rubs at his ears as the roaring laughter attacks his senses again. “You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.” He rubs harder at his ears, forcing the memory away. With the laughter fading,Steve can regulate his shaky breathing and free himself into an upright position. Sniffling slightly, Steve rubs at his eyes and nose and takes a deep breath. Placing his hands on his knees, Steve stares at the ground and focuses on breathing, He stays there until the bell rings.

Sometimes he would sit in silence. Other times he would talk nonstop; a constant stream of conversation to fill the room. There was never an in between. Sometimes he would leave before Jonathan, giving a simple wave and “See you tomorrow.” before leaving. But more often than not, he would stay. Jonathan would finish his pictures, and hold the door open for him. They would walk together to their cars and he would ask if Jonathan needed any help making dinner or if he wanted to study. He never did, but he always said yes.

* * *

 

It was several hours before Will would be home, and Jonathan would need to start dinner. Steve and Jonathan are sat on his bed, sorting through pictures for the wall and The Clash playing on his stereo. Steve flips through repeat photos of Nancy sitting under a tree, a yellow flower cupped in her hands as she smiles up at the camera. Steve smiles and sets aside the picture with the best lighting. “What are we making tonight?” He questions.

“Hm?” Jonathan looks up. “I don’t know yet. We still have some hamburger meat and pasta. We could make spaghetti or something.” Jonathan stretches his arms over his head, elbows and back cracking. Steve hums in response and continues his sorting. Scratching at a door sounds down the hall and Steve twitches, scratching his neck to cover it up. The scratching came again and Steve looked up, frowning at the door, his nerves on edge. Jonathan looks up, then glances at the door. “What’s wrong?” He asks. Steve shifts his gaze back to Jonathan and whispers,

“I think I heard something.” Jonathan eyebrows pinch together and he frowns. He leans over to turn down the stereo and listens for what Steve heard. The room sat in silence for a beat before a bark and scratching came from somewhere outside. Steve jumped at the noise and Jonathan placed a hand on his knee.

“It’s okay.” He reassures. “It’s just the dog. He’s probably hungry.” Jonathan pushes himself off of the bed and opens the door, walking further into the house. Steve closes his eyes and sighs.

“Stop being such a pussy.” He murmurs to himself, readjusting his position on the bed. He could hear the back door open and thundering foot fall. Jonathan calls “Chester, No!” from down the hall and Steve tenses. The bedroom door burst open and a white mass thrust itself into the room, jumping at the bed and barking. The air rushes out of his lungs, and Steve shuffles back on the bed, back hitting the wall.

“No, no, no, go away.” He cries, knees pulled to his chest and photos scattered across the bed and floor.

_“Demogorgon. Dog. Demodog. It’s like a compound.”_

The dog barks and paws at the bed, attempting to get up. Steve shakes his head violently, pushing himself closer to the wall. “Go away, go away.” He pleads.

Jonathan runs into the room, glaring at the dog, and pulling him away by the collar. “Chester, down.” He commands. He pulls the dog to the door and shoves him into the hallway, slamming the door in his face. Leaning against the door, Jonathan looks Steve over, from his shaking hands to his glistening eyes. “You okay?” His voice cautious and quiet.

Steve sucks in a rattling breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah.” He sighs. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He refrains from rubbing his ears, the sound of glass shattering echoing in his ears. He raises his eyes and makes hesitant eye contact with Jonathan. “I just don’t like dogs.” He admits. Jonathan nods but doesn’t say anything.

_He never does._

* * *

 

Steve hates going home. His parents are never home and the silence is deafening. The house creaks in odd places, setting his nerves on edge. Alone in a big house, he feels watched. Stalked. Fingers creeping at the back of his neck.

Steve slams the door behind him, locking the bolt, the door, and the chain before giving it a tug for good measure. He sheds his jacket and backpack, grabbing at empty space before realizing he forgot his bat. Steve slams his head back against the door. “Shit.” He unlocks the door and peaks out the door, glancing at the woods around his house. Steve yanks the door open, pulling the pocket knife out of his back pocket and flipping it open. He sprints to the car, pulling open the driver side door, pulling the trunk release and slamming the door. He skids around to the trunk snatches his bat off the floor, closes the trunk and runs back up the steps and into the house. He locks the door again and presses his back against the door. Steve holds the bat in an iron grip and sinks to the floor.

_What is wrong with me?_ Jonathan and Nancy didn’t have these problems. They didn’t freak out at every sound. Didn’t have monsters growling in their ears. Didn’t have blood splattering their vision and screams surrounding them when they tried to sleep. They didn’t, they _didn’t._ “We fucking killed it.” His voice cracked and tears flooded his vision.  “It can’t come back. Its dead. We fucking killed it.” Steve pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “We fucking killed it.” He took a shaky breath and wiped at his face. “You’re fine.”

* * *

 

“You are not fine.”

Steve chuckled, shuffling the books in his grip. He looks over at Nancy, who had asked if he was okay. “ _Nance_ ,” He gave her a disarming smile and knocked their shoulders together. “I’m fine. I promise. Just a little tired.” Nancy doesn’t look convinced. Sighing, Steve stops, leaning back against the lockers and fixing Nancy with a serious look. He allows Nancy to search his face, to gaze into his eyes and look for a lie. “I promise Nance,” His voice is a low murmur, too quiet for the bustling hallway. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.” She was quiet for a moment before giving him a hesitant smile and nodding. Steve pushes himself off the lockers and they continue their walk in silence. Steve lets out a relieved breath. He had gotten better at lying. He couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.

* * *

 

_You’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine_

Steve scrubs at his face, fingernails digging into numb skin. Lungs empty, his chest aching and quivering with every wheezing cough.

_I can’t feel my face_

Tears stream down his face, violent sobs wracking his frame. He scratched harder.

_Why can’t I feel anything_

Hysteria building, Steve let out a broken cry.

_Fucking breathe I can’t fucking breathe_

Doubling over, Steve fell off the bed, collapsing on the bedroom floor. The carpet scratches his face and muffles his screams as he heaves, stomach knotting and throat ripping. Steve slams his face against the floor and sobs harder.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

* * *

 

Stee pulled the cigarette away from his lips, holding the dry smoke in his lungs as it burns his insides. He lets the smoke escape his cracked lips and takes another drag. _Nicotine in. Hold. Anxiety out._

He sat on the couch in the living room, every light on and every door and window locked and checked. ( ~~And double checked and triple checked~~ ) Wind whistled across the patio add his movement slows, watching the door for any sign of danger. When nothing appears, he shakes his head and takes another drag. “You’re going crazy, Harrington.”

Reaching the end of his cigarette, Steve looks around for an ashtray. He stops, the memory of his conversation with Jonathan floating through his mind.

_“Lonnie used me as his own personal ashtray.” The hem of his t-shirt was lifted up to reveal circular burns littering Jonathan’s abdomen. He pulled the shirt down when Steve reached out. He shrugged, looking away. “You’re not the only one with a shitty father.” He murmured, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to say the words burning in his throat._

Steve looks down at his bare legs, expanses of pale skin pulled taunt against his lean frame. Considering the cigarette butt in his hand, Steve brought it down to his thigh. He held it there, hovering just above the skin. Ash fell off the cigarette and stung his leg. Taking a deep breath, Steve pulls the cigarette away from his leg and stands, shaking the thought from his head. He smashes the butt into an ashtray in the kitchen. “Don’t be stupid.” He whispers. The room says nothing.

It never does.

* * *

 

Steve doesn’t know how long it’s been here, but it never seemed to leave. It sat at the edge of his vision, its presence sending shivers up his back and making his hair stand on end. Sometimes it’s low growls would echo through his ears. Sometimes he could swear he could feel its breathe on the back of his neck. Joyce calls it hallucinations. Steve calls it fear. He would see it on the patio, standing on the edge of the pool. Sometimes he would come home to find it chewing on his parents, his mother’s white dress stained red and his father’s mustache filled with bits of his own flesh. He would never hear his mother calling him as he raced to his room, slamming the door and holding his bat in shaking hands until he could hear his own breathing again.

( ~~Steve pretends not to notice the worried looks and hushed conversations between Nancy and Jonathan.~~ )

* * *

 

Steve slams the front door, fumbling with the the lock, his feet slipping on the entry rug. The demogorgon roars, pounding on the door. Steve ran to the kitchen, sliding around the corner and snagging the phone off the wall. A roar shook the house and the lights overhead flickered. Fingers shaking, Steve punched in the number and held the phone to his forehead, sliding to the floor. A sob pushed itself out of his mouth and Steve slammed his head back against the wall.

“Hello?” Steve gasped, pulling the phone close with his trembling hands.

“Jonathan! Jonathan its Steve!” The line is silent for a beat and tears spilled out his eyes. He was dead. Jonathan wouldn’t get here fast enough.

“Steve? Are you okay?” The voice was different, definitely Jonathan this time. The monster roaring drags another sob between Steve’s lips as he cowers against the wall. The lights overhead flicker on and off fast enough to make his eyes hurt. “Steve! Steve what’s going on?”

“It’s back Jonathan.” Steve cried, hysteria taking over. “It’s here Jonathan. It’s real. I swear to god it’s real Jonathan.” He broke off into a fit of coughing sobs.

“Steve! Steve!” Jonathan yelled on the other line. Steve dropped the phone, it bouncing on its wire against the wall. Steve stared, unable to breathe, as the lights flickered violently. “Steve stay there, I’m on the way.” The phone screamed the dial tone.

A series of pounding and roars came from the sliding glass door. Steve jerks his head up, seeing the demogorgon pressed against the glass across the room. Shooting to his feet, Steve launches himself up the stairs, diving into his parent’s room. He rips open the closet door, throwing clothes out of the way to find his father’s revolver. He snatched it off a dusty shoe box and snags a box of bullets, shaking fingers opening the chamber to load the gun. The sound of glass shattering and heavy footfalls shocks Steve out of the closet. He slams the bedroom door closed, pulling back the hammer. An ugly snarl echoes through the house. Steve backs up his whole body trembling. His legs bump against the bed and he stumbles, falling on the floor beside the bed. He pushed himself up and shuffled back until his back hit the nightstand.

The monster slammed on the bedroom door. Steve raised the revolver, his hands shaking too hard to aim. He squeezed out a shot. The crack of the gun makes his ears ring and the bullet goes through the door. The demogorgon shrieks. It roars again, hitting the door with new found rage. The door flew open, lights flickering too fast to see anything. The demogorgon stood in the doorway, face opened in an ear piercing scream, saliva and chunks of meat flying out between its jagged teeth. Steve raised the pistol, squeezing off another shot. He shot again. The demogorgon stepped forward and Steve shot again. It didn’t stop. Pressing himself lower to the ground, Steve shot again, the bullet going straight through it. The demogorgon rushed forward and Steve screamed, squeezing the trigger until it clicked empty.

“Steve! Steve!” Jonathan yelled in the background, but the demogorgon roars drowned him out. It loomed over Steve’s collapsed form, claws gouging hole in the carpet. Its grotesque face leaned close to Steve’s face, drooling over his cheek. Steve sat frozen, his brain screaming to run, but his body unable to move. Someone screamed his name, but Steve didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. His eyes open wide, unblinking, staring death in the face. The demogorgon gave another scream and Steve closed his eyes, flinching as spittle soaked his face.

Claws gripped his shoulders, biting into the skin and shaking him hard. Steve cried out in pai and tried to grapple with its grip, his body taking over where his mind failed. He slapped and scratched at the arms on his shoulders, screaming as its slimy lips brushed against his head.

“Steve! Steve it’s me!” Jonathan’s voice rang out and Steve opened his eyes to locate his friend, to tell him to run. ( ~~To tell him to save him~~ ) The grip on his shoulder shook him again and the hazy view of Jonathan crouched over him came through his mirage of tears. Steve gasped, his lungs in a vice grip of panic. His eyes raced over Jonathan, searching for anything ( ~~for safety.~~ )

Jonathan’s arms quivered from his iron grip on Steve’s shoulders. His face is red, eyes wide and scared.

Steve looked around the room, but the monster was gone. His eyes darted around, head wiping around to find any sign of the demogorgon, seeing no slim or gunk coating the bed nor carpet. He looks back to Jonathan, and his chest heaves. “I-It-” Steve stuttered, jaw trembling. “It was here.” His voice cracks and Jonathan looks him in the eyes, his own eyes starting to well with tears and his lips shaking. He pulls Steve to his chest, burying his face in his hair. Steve balls his hands in Jonathan’s shirt, pulling him as close as the space allowed. Jonathan shook, a quiet sob itching for attention. Steve pressed his face to his collarbone,breathing in the scent of Jonathan and trying to gain control of his lungs. “Jonathan.” His voice muffled into the fabric of his shirt.

“Sh, sh, sh,” Jonathan quets him, running a hand through Steve’s sweat soaked hair and cupping the back of his head. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” Steve feels the string of rising tears again and holds tighter to Jonathan. Jonathan rocks back on his heels, keeping Steve pressed to him, some semblance of a calming gesture. “Sh, sh, sh,” He murmurs close to Steve’s ear. “You’re okay, It wasn’t real. It’s okay. You’re safe.” Steve bursts, tears streaming down his face and soaking Jonathan’s shirt. His breathing constricts again and a violent sob wrecks his throat. Jonathan’s grip tightens around his neck. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. I got you. Sh, sh, sh. It’s okay. It’s gone Steve. It’s not coming back. It’s okay. Sh, sh, hey, it’s not real okay? It wasn’t real.” Jonathan pulls back to grab Steve’s face, gripping his tear soaked red face in shaking fingers. “It wasn’t real.” Steve breaks down again, sobbing hard between short breaths and painful hiccups. Jonathan pulls Steve’s face back to his chest and leans back against the bed, taking Steve with him, running calming hands over his back. “Take a deep breathe. It’s okay. It’s not real, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He pulls Steve closer and leans down to kiss the top of his head. “I’ve got you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think!


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